


Dressing for the Body You Have

by Culumacilinte



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [7]
Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Banter, Bodyswap, M/M, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 20:46:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14340585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Culumacilinte/pseuds/Culumacilinte
Summary: Bodyswaaaaaaaap~ The first morning of bodyswap shenanigans before either of them has a chance to learn the rules yet. There may one day be more to follow.





	Dressing for the Body You Have

‘What’ve you done to me hair?!’ Vince shrieks as he comes out of the shower.  
  
'Brushed it?’ Howard offers awkwardly, shifting uncertainly in a way which the body’s long muscle memory makes Vince’s, toes pointed in and hips back, which is  _weird_. Or isn’t, which makes it even weirder. He knows Vince’s hair requires a whole cadre of  _things_ done to it; backcombing and teasing and blowing out and any of a hundred different products applied, but he hadn’t known how to do any of those, so he’d gone with the tried and true: find a part, brush down. He’d been surprised by how soft and straight Vince’s hair was, in its natural state.  
  
'Brushed it!?’ Vince sounds positively distraught, and he rushes over, putting Howard’s own big damp hands into his hair and fussing with it. 'You can’t just  _brush_  it, Christy, it needs volume!’  
  
He stills suddenly with one hand splayed out over the back of Howard’s skull (and he’d never realised quite how big his own hands are; Vince is cupping his head like one of those huge American athletes with a basketball. It gives him a tingle he isn’t entirely comfortable with), tiny brown eyes looking like they’re trying to grow larger purely to accommodate the force of Vince behind them.   
  
'You ain’t gone outside, have you?’  
  
'No!’ Howard whinges, and slaps at Vince’s arm, backing away. 'Get out me space, you’re dripping all over me.’  
  
'Oh, thank god’, Vince breathes, and then: 'And what’re you  _wearing_? Are those even mine?’  
  
They’d been in Vince’s wardrobe, which Howard had, admittedly, been surprised about when he’d found them, but maybe there had been a brief flirtation with geek chic or something that he’d not been aware of. He’d pulled them on with some relief at the time, taking comfort in the soft jumper; at least he could still look a  _little_  like himself. He glowers at Vince. 'What, like you’re not gonna dress me up like a… glam pimp the first chance you get? You’ve probably been waiting for years to get unfettered access to my body.’  
  
It’s not until Vince  _leers_  at him, the expression strange and unfamiliar on Howard’s features, that he realises how that sounded, and he can feel his ears and hairline heat. 'Oh, shut up.’  
  
'That ain’t how fashion works, Howard’, Vince says. In his own voice it’d probably sound a bit bratty, but filtered through Howard’s vocal cords, the effect is lecturing, like he’s about to pull out a PowerPoint with full citations. 'I couldn’t just dress you up like me, you’d look like a right tit.’  
  
’ _Thank_  you’, Howard sniffs.  
  
'You ain’t got the body for it’, Vince continues, and Howard’s smug pleasure evaporates. 'I’ll show you, just you wait. And  _then_  I am doin’ your hair; you look ridiculous.’  
  
Howard doesn’t know what he’s expecting, when Vince finally emerges from their bedroom later. He’s hoping, honestly, for Vince to have layered on all the glitter and fripperies he can manage so that Howard can laugh about how ridiculous he looks and prove that whoever happens to be inside it, his body is that of a Man of Action, handsome and rugged, which doesn’t need vain dolling up. That is… not what he gets.  
  
Howard has a way of making all clothes look like they don’t quite fit right. Even if a pair of trousers has the right waistband and the right inseam and should, by rights, fit perfectly, something will inevitably be slightly off. Shirts strain over his belly or are too short in the arms or too long everywhere else and come untucked and straggle over his belt; there are a dozen ways in which clothes invariably just don't fit him. Vince, however, has wrapped his legs in a pair of jeans that fits  _perfectly_ ; not his usual skinnies, but tailored in some way Howard doesn’t have the words for, clinging just a little around the thighs, soft and fashionably worn. A black t-shirt with some kind of design picked out in silver under a dark green velvet blazer– the pocket square furling out of the breast pocket in a froth of brightly-patterned silk the one concession to Vince’s usual predilection towards mad colours– cut in such a way as to broaden his shoulders and create a waist Howard is pretty sure isn’t naturally occurring. On his feet, gently pointy boots, shiny fawn with Baroque-looking gold detailing.  
  
And his hair! Howard has no idea how, but Vince has done something to his hair that’s given it volume and shine, and his curls, instead of looking like he’s just pulled a shirt over his head, are perfectly defined and artfully mussed, tumbling around his ears and over his forehead. Eyeliner makes his eyes dark and warm. Even his moustache (and he feels a giddy swoop of relief that Vince hadn’t shaved it off, as he’d been half afraid he would) looks more neatly groomed than usual.  
  
Howard finds that his mouth has gone dry. He’s fairly certain that he’s not actually attracted to himself– only one of them here is that narcissistic, thank you very much– so it must be… Vince’s body? Is that possible? The thought gives him another swoop, this one decidedly stranger and squirmier.  
  
Vince preens. 'Told you.’  
  
'I look like a gay magician’, Howard snaps, to cover for whatever his face was doing, and Vince laughs.  
  
'No you don’t, you look brilliant and you know it. Who’d'a thought? You’re well handsome if someone puts in a bit of effort instead of looking like a hobo who dressed in the dark. Come on, I’m gonna fix your hair and then we’re going out! I wanna show you off. Me off. Whatever.'


End file.
